


We Have Met the Future

by wildair7



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 03:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13918146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildair7/pseuds/wildair7
Summary: When the Enterprise encounters a decidedly strange spacecraft and meets the commander and his first officer on a planet below, what Spock learns of the future not only shocks him to the core, but answers many of his questions regarding his supposed cousin T'Pira.





	We Have Met the Future

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a predecessor to a series I have named the T'Pria Chronicles, which center around Spock's cousin and relates not only her own adventures but provides much detail regarding her relationship with Spock, Leonard McCoy and James Kirk. First published in a very chopped up and rearranged version in the program book for the Dallas, Texas, based American Star Trek Convention of October 28-31, 1976, it is printed here in its full, intended format.

**We Have Met the Future**

**By**

**Janelle Holmes**

 

     There are times when all of us experience moments of remembrance. There are some who experience moments of precognizance, though few are fortunate enough to blend past, present, and future within the space of a single passing day. Such is the Vulcan Spock’s fate.

     Why fate? Why not good fortune? You shall see. Reader beware! For no man is such solid ice he cannot be melted. Blessings be upon Terrans, for they have survived countless centuries of illogic, like the above. Let the story begin.

 

     Spock sat at the videocom in his quarters, formulating in his mind what words he would use. Inside the small living space, darkness reigned, a fitting atmosphere for his mood. Finally, he stretched out a finger and pressed the “Record” button, the words still uncoalesced.

     “To Sarek, my father, and Amanda, my mother: Greetings. Recently, my cousin, your foster child, T’Pira, was assigned to this ship for a brief period…as my assistant and quite unknown to me, for, as you may already know, she has taken an Earth name for her Starfleet file, choosing to drop her Vulcan one.

     “But, as we agreed many years ago, and since the opportunity presented itself, as well as the circumstances decreeing it, I told her of her parentage. At first, she was unbelieving but later accepted all I told.

     “Since then, T’Pira has transferred to the _Exeter_ but not before contacting the Vulcan High Council as to her availability for contract and her knowledge of her station in the Regency. In addition, you also undoubtedly know from T’Pau of the Council’s decision to postpone T’Pira’s marital obligation for a period of ten Standard Years.

     “Because my duties prevent my sending many messages such as this, if you should contact T’Pira yourselves, express my concern for her well-being.

     “That this recording is incoherent and confusing must be blamed upon my present state, as I have many problems on my mind. However, regarding our agreement that one of us should tell T’Pira of her parentage when she achieved the appropriate age, it seemed I should notify you immediately.

     “Blessings be upon thee. Thy son, Spock.”

     The Vulcan flipped off the recorder and slipped the disc from its slot, placing it carefully on the desk before walking slowly into the sleeping area and lying down on the narrow bed. As he lay there, arms folded beneath his head and staring at the sound-dampening panels which comprised the ceiling of each unit, T’Pira’s image appeared when he briefly closed his eyes, haunting him. He remembered back to Starbase Ten. Had it been only a week past? He could see the beach and feel the grit of the sand under his bare feet.

     They had run across the white coastal shore, T’Pira’s laughter as golden as her eyes while he chased her. Then his own deep laughter stopped her, but she gave her maddening smile and raced off. With a burst of speed, he caught her and brought her down onto the sparkling beach. Their laughter ceased when golden eyes met his with sadness.

    “Two more days,” she said.

    At that, his face grew somber. “I know.” He caressed her bare sun-warmed shoulder and looked again into her eyes. “It is too soon.” His hand moved upward to her face. “Too soon.”

     The blare of Kirk’s order interrupted his thoughts. “Mr. Spock to Bridge.”

     A heavy sigh later, he rolled over and switched the toggle of the bedside com. “Spock her. Acknowledged.”

 

  It was a normal shift for the crewmembers of _The Enterprise_. In other words, dull to the point of routine. The Bridge, nerve center of the enclosed universe of nearly five hundred, hummed and buzzed with electronic ease. On entering, Spock discovered he’d been called to correct a malfunction on the scanner, but while testing it, noticed something quite extraordinary.

     “Captain, there’s a spacecraft emerging from collapsar Cygnus-One,” the science officer’s deep voice remarked, a bit perturbed.

     “What’s the distance to Cygnus-One from our present position, Spock?”

     “Approximately One-hundred-and-eighty-thousand kilometers, sir,” replied the navigator.

     “I was addressing Mr. Spock, Ensign, please note your navigational abilities in your log.”

     Chekov dropped his eyes to his control panel and looked sheepishly at his helmsman.

     James Kirk turned toward the science station, where Spock’s face was awash in the bluish hue of his scanner.

     “The craft, which emerged at roughly Warp Ten, has now slowed to Warp Two,” he informed. “Now commencing a three-hundred-and-sixty degree turn.”

     “Mr. Spock,” the Captain asked, “speculation?”

     “It would seem they plan to re-enter the collapsar, Captain.” The Vulcan paused a moment, studying his screen. “If we initiate Warp Five, we might intercept before they are out of range.”

     Kirk, sensing the Vulcan’s curiosity, admitted his own in silence, then ordered, “Initiate increase and sound Red Alert.”

     Chekov’s ears perked up immediately.

     “Warp Five, Mr. Chekov. Let’s see who this stranger is.”

     “Aye, sir, Warp Five. Now approaching.”

     The Captain swiveled in his command chair to face the communications deck. “Give them a hail, Lieutenant.”

     The sienna-skinned officer placed a hand close to her ear, listening to a muted sound in the headset. “Captain,” Uhura began, “they are calling us…in Anglish, sir.” An experimental language composed of English and several common alien languages, in present day only few worlds spoke it in any usage.

     “Put it on visual, Lieutenant, and initiate full audio.”

     “Aye, sir.” Uhura’s hands flipped three colored switches on her panel and turned to the viewscreen, where all eyes of the Bridge personnel were fixed on the unknown, unfamiliar spacecraft, a silver, flat ovoid disc, two short metallic cylinders attached to either side, probably booster pods, like those of _The_ _Enterprise_.

     The Captain fell silent, thinking. “Spock, see if you can lock into their Bridge.”

     With three colored switches slipped on the panel, the Vulcan turned back to the main viewscreen, where stood the image of another officer, one in a tightly-fitting bi-colored black and red uniform, a galactic spiral on his left breast and four broad gold bands on the right.

       “Captain Kirk, I am Commodore Kyle E. Fielder of the Galactic Alliance Starship,

 _Marganza_. I assume you are receiving visual. We note your science scanners, Mr. Spock. I hope we’ll be able to answer your questions.”

 

     On the other starship, the brown-haired commander studied the puzzled image of Kirk on his own viewscreen. Fielder hasn’t wished to make contact with people from this galaxy, but now it was unavoidable, and he decided to make the best of things.

     He watched as the tall, dark Vulcan crossed the bridge to take a position next to his Captain and said almost inaudibly, “No known craft of this design in computer library. The ship might possibly be from another time.”

     Kirk’s eyes were fixed on the viewscreen. “Yes, Spock. Those were my thoughts, too,” he heard.

     He pressed a button on his command console. “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the United Federation of Planets’ Starship _Enterprise_. Please identify yourself, specifically.”

     Fielder remained silent but listened to the muted words of the woman standing behind him.

     “Commodore,” began an obviously impatient Kirk, “I am unused to such situations as your appearance presents. We find no record of your ship nor of your command. There are—”

     The Captain of The _Marganza_ cut him off. “The Galactic Alliance lies two-and-one-half centuries in your future, Captain Kirk. Nevertheless, we have met, and in this unique situation, it might be advisable to communicate on a person-to-person basis.”

    

     Aboard the other starship, Spock postulated, “Interesting. It would be a fascinating exchange of cultures, Captain. I see no reason to doubt the validity of his claim.” Spock’s face settled into a stern calmness but was unable to stifle a slight flicker at the corners of his mouth.

     Kirk inclined his head to meet the eyes of his First Officer. “What do you find so interesting?”

     “It would present a fascinating exchange of cultures, Captain. I see no reason, considering the evidence, to doubt his claim’s validity.”

     “Commodore Fielder,” Kirk began slowly, choosing his words carefully, “may I suggest a rendezvous between ourselves and our first officers?”

     “Delighted, Captain. However, because of security precautions, I cannot invite you to board this ship and seriously doubt you could guarantee our safety aboard yours. May I, therefore, suggest a neutral area…planet Beta Cygni-Three, at coordinates Zero-two-zero, seven-four-nine, eight-six-three?”

     When Kirk glanced at Spock, once more bent over his scanner, the man who identified himself as Kyle E. Fielder, said, “Your science officer will confirm the planet atmosphere as suitable, I’m sure.

     Spock raised his head from the scanner and nodded affirmation.

     “Agreed, Commodore,” answered Kirk. “We’ll beam down immediately.”

     “Unarmed,” added Fielder.

     Kirk smiled, grimly. “Unarmed…of course. Kirk out.”

    

    The images erased themselves from the two viewscreens simultaneously, and Fielder turned, releasing a sigh he’d restrained within since first seeing the other ship, and regarded his second in command and smiled at her, before speaking over his shoulder to the man beside him.

     “Mr. Raslor, the Bridge is yours.” He then escorted the slender but shapely woman to the lift.

     Once inside, she turned to him. “You are worried, Kyle?”

     He half laughed in nervousness. “You bet I am. If our plan doesn’t work, it could change the course of history.”

     She touched the man’s arm. “Kyle, things will be fine. I know it.”

     In return, he gave her a quick hug. “Here you are, comforting me, when I should be the one comforting you. After all, what do I say to Kirk? What do I tell him?”

     “You shall know the right things but do concern yourself overly. All will be well.”

     Within a few minutes they’d arrived on the third deck and the Transport Chamber, a room much like the one on _The Enterprise_ but with the inevitable sophistication attributed to 25 th century technology.

     The tall human advanced to the Transport console and asked the green and black clad officer, “All arranged?”

     The other answered, “All as planned, sir. The chosen coordinates are well isolated.”

     Fielder nodded his approval as he joined the woman who already stood on the raised platform.

 

     Aboard the _Enterprise_ , a similar scene followed its course. The First Officer awaited his Captain by the doors of the turbo lift while final orders were given.

     “Ensign,” said Kirk, addressing Chekov who now sat at Spock’s science station, “keep track of us, and should there be any discrepancies in our reading, beam us back at once.”

     “Aye, sir,” he replied and turned to see the two officers enter the turbo lift.

    “Mr. Scott,” Kirk added, as the doors begin to close, “you have the com.

 

     As the elevator hummed its way past the levels of the huge starship, Kirk glanced at the man beside him. “Comment, Spock?”

     “None, Jim. I believe we will find a most interesting discussion before us.”

     “Could they actually be from the future?”

     “Possible. I shall secure a tricorder outside the transport room to document all that occurs.”

     When they came through the doors of the Transporter Room, Scotty stood at his position at the controls, in a workmanlike stance, and signaled with a nod of his head his readiness.

     “I’ve found a nice clearin’ for ye, at those coordinates, Captain,” he said, smiling. “Nice and homey, it is, too. Lots of trees and a quiet stream.”

     “I appreciate your attention to detail, Mister Scott,” said Kirk, “but we’re not going for the scenery,” whereupon he and Spock mounted the platform and took their places on the two, foremost disks and watched as the technician slid the levers into the forward position.

      First Spock dematerialized and then Kirk.

 

     A sea of green leaves and swaying timber greeted the eyes of the two Federate officers, reminding Kirk of an Earthly forest in early fall, with a gentle breeze drifting through the branches above. A winding brook trickled slowly past his feet, and he turned to see Spock standing a few feet to his right, who had his scanner out checking the readouts of this alien planet.

     “Quite Earthlike, Captain.”

     “Do you find it as Earthlike as I do, Spock, and rather restful?”

     “Considerably, Captain. A nice, temperate range.”

     “I’ll make a note of that.” Kirk reached in his pocket for his communicator.

     “Kirk to Enterprise.”

     Uhura’s soft tones responded, and Kirk paced a few feet downstream. “Just checking, Lieutenant. Kirk out.”

     Before him, two oddly-clothed aliens approached, and Spock strode to the Captain’s side, scanner beeping steadily. The full figure of a tall, well-built brown-haired man, slightly older than himself, took form, and beside him the outline of his First Officer, a dark-haired woman of incredible beauty, clothed in the same type of clinging uniform as her superior but half yellow and half white in color. Her almost exotic beauty drew the stares of the men from _The Enterprise_ , as well as Spock’s next words.

     “Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.”

     Kirk, tempted to redundancy, had his words cut off, when the woman spoke first, raising her hand in the Vulcan salute. Spock, taken slightly aback, returned it,

    “Live long and prosper, Spock,” came her velvety smooth tones.

    In response he raised a black eyebrow, as close to being stupefied as any other time in his life. “You know my name. Are you Vulcan?”

    “Our computers provided us both your names. I am called L’Pira.” She smiled faintly, as she spoke.

     Fielder crossed the narrow stretch of ground, extending his hand to Kirk. “Captain,” he said, as Kirk shook his hand.

     For the first time, the captain of the other starship, seemed to notice this man. A youngish forty, he guessed, this man from the future stood well over six feet tall, whose face bore well-formed cheekbones and a warm, open smile. Beneath his thick hair, odd grey-green eyes shone with charismatic magnetism. Altogether, the man presented an imposing figure.

     “You must forgive our Mister Spock and myself for staring, Commodore, but your First Officer bears a…an uncanny resemblance to a…close friend of ours.”

     “Yes,” Fielder whispered, “I know. What say we leave these two alone, Captain? I think they have more to discuss than we do.”

     Kirk glanced at Spock, who maintained his distance from the woman. Sensing Kirk’s gaze, the Vulcan turned and nodded.

     “That is quite true, Jim.”

     “All right, then.” Kirk knew whenever Spock used his first name, his emotions were high or deadly in intent. He turned to Fielder. “I don’t know about you, Commodore, but since we beamed down, I’ve been wondering what lay behind that boulder on the horizon.”

     Fielder nodded, giving a brief look to his highly cherished First Officer. “As have I, Captain. Shall we?”

     Kirk led the way, and Fielder followed, commenting on the different rock formations as they walked and throwing another backward look toward L’Pira.

 

     With the two commanding officers out of earshot, the woman drew closer to the Vulcan. “Shall we speak, Mr. Spock”

     “Indeed,” he answered. “There is much I would know.”

     The woman led the way to a pair of jutting, gray-green boulders then arranged herself gracefully on the larger one, catlike, tucking her legs beneath her, and peered up at the Vulcan through golden-hued eyes.

     “First of all, to answer your initial question, I am Meldanan.”  When Spock eyed her quizzically, she paused, trying to decide what else she should say. “The planet Vulcan of your birth ceased to exist in our time nearly two centuries ago.”

     Spock startled but seemed to regain his composure in what she knew was typical Vulcan fashion and stifled his urge to comment.

     “There was an attack,” L’Pira continued, “by a formidable race, yet unknown to you, one we call the Phoebans. They…came from outside this galaxy, far beyond, raiding, pillaging, but mostly leaving all as they did Vulcan: pulverized. Although your race put up a admirable front, through the generations of emotional control, their war-like powers proved no match for the barbarians.

     She sensed Spock’s attempts at rationalizing the possibility of her words, the needs of his logical mind requiring proof, and she spoke once more. “Only a few families escaped the destruction, as well as those off world, and it remained for these to undertake the task of rebuilding a nearly extinct race. These chose an asteroid in the Eradani System, moved it to a more habitable orbit then cultivated and improved it technologically to support life. All this done the remaining Vulcans settled and began a new race, a new government. Names changed from the older form, men’s often completely. Only a few honored children, the first-born males of families directly descended from the Ancestor, are given the privilege of bearing the names of the Ancient Ones.”  She regarded the Vulcan’s response to these last words and, seeing no unanticipated emotions, went on with her narrative.

     “And the Phoebans?” asked Spock. “Did they leave?”

     “Still plaguing us, I fear. They are, perhaps, the most feared of all our enemies.”

     Spock moved to sit next to the woman, and she could sense the camaraderie he felt with her.

     “The language also changed, as might be expected, and the asteroid was given a new name, as well, ‘Meldana,’ meaning ‘new world.’  Our salute has also changed, she added, raising her hand mid fingers touching and the outer two extended outward. “So, you see, I am, in fact, a Vulcan…unlike yourself but also like yourself, only half Vulcan.”

     Spock’s raised eyebrow met her words. “How can you be so certain the history of Vulcan in your time will be the same as Vulcan of mine? Is it not possible we could be from two different, although parallel continuums?”

     “Naturally,” she responded,” no absolute certainty exists, as you say, that we are from the same continuum. I can only offer what knowledge I have and allow you to determine its validity. You have heard of the Adani?”

     This time both eyebrows raised. “Yes.”

     “I thought you would,” she said, smiling slightly, “even though they reside outside your galaxy. My other racial stock is of that culture.”

     “Just like—”

     “Yes, just like your cousin, T’Pira. Did you not notice the similarities of our names? I am her descendant, which also explains our resemblance. Tell me,” she went on, reluctant to bring further discomfort to the Vulcan’s suffering on the mention of the other’s name, yet aware he wished to speak of her at the same time. “Tell me, how did your cousin’s parents meet? My people know little of you Ancient Ones but do know your race never ventured outside your galaxy.”

     Spock met her eyes, undoubtedly seeing in her features those of the woman denied him so recently and remembering back to long ago when he had first learned T’Pira’s parentage.

     “Her father, Sarnak, became lost in a meteor storm in space and thus driven off course and out of the galaxy where he crashed on another planet. He later learned its name was Adana. The people there nursed him to health. Although they knew much of the races outside among the universe, they never traveled themselves, so were aware of Vulcan. When he recovered, they contacted their head government, that of Ara, to facilitate Sarnak’s return to his native planet, along with the Adani woman he had married during his convalescence, one of those attending him at the time. Shortly after their return to Vulcan, the child T’Pira was born.” He paused, and it seemed to the woman here, they looked beyond her to memories of the past.

     “However,” he continued, “soon after, the woman, Altaneesa, died, unable to adapt to the harsh climate of Vulcan, and Sarnak was so devastated, he took his own life, unable to face life on the emotionless Vulcan to which he had returned, without her by his side. The child then came to T’Pau and later to my parents.” He cast his eyes downward.

     L’Pira’s mind penetrated the man’s thoughts, and she felt drawn to him, bearing a face so like her late husband Jainar’s, the same sad eyes which denied all emotion yet reflected all. She reached out to touch this man’s cheek, as she would to comfort Jainar’s denied emotion, then caught herself and withdrew it.

     “Forgive my action, Mr. Spock. My husband died so recently, and I find your resemblance to him uncanny, I forget you are not him.” Suddenly, she turned away to prevent this man from seeing the tears which came to her eyes without warning. This was the second time she’d done so since Jainar’s death.

     Did the Vulcan sense her pain, the same pain he felt on his cousin’s departure…one of great loss…which made him feel closer to herself? Perhaps her resemblance prompted it, perhaps more. She knew he wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how. He must be rationalizing she possessed the same training as he—stoic control over emotions. If so, why would she desire comfort from a stranger like himself, although he didn’t feel like a stranger. She could see this, too, in those muddied thoughts clouding his brain.

  

    She stood with her back to him, head erect, arms in front, the palms placed together. Spock knew that posture well, using great mental powers to command one’s will. As he watched, she turned and once more met his gaze, her golden eyes moist but face stern.

     “There is much I could tell you of your own future, Spock. You will see T’Pira again. Many times. You will head a powerful family when Meldana is built, and you will see and know a true peace among men.” Then her eyes warmed as she studied his face and delved into his mind.

     “You worry about T’Pira’s future. Examine my palms, Spock,” she said, holding them out to him. He took them in his and considered them carefully. “My palm prints, my fingerprints are identical to hers.”

     Spock delved into L’Pira’s golden orbs, where swirled the same specks of gray which marked T’Pira’s.

     “Even our brain patterns, eye patterns, our voice patterns are the same. I have compared her karyotype with mine. Even our genes are the same.” She looked more deeply into his eyes. “We are identical twins, born centuries apart, but more than that, because identical twins are not genetically identical and differ in many ways, belying their physical appearance.”

     She withdrew her hands from his. “My life has paralleled hers in every respect but one. We have known the same type of men, served under the same sort of commanding officers. T’Pira once married James Kirk, I wed Kyle Fielder, for exactly the same number of day and for the same reason. My son also died in the eighth month of gestation. She once wed a man of Romulan birth, I a Krishnar. The resemblance between the two races is enough to claim kinship yet dissimilar enough to deny it. Their cultures are almost indistinguishable. T’Pira has a half-brother unknown to her before now as such, but familiar, very familiar. Nevertheless, there is only one way in which our lives have varied thus far: she left you once she found you.”

     Spock lowered his eyes.

     “I could never have made such a sacrifice,” the woman continued. “I loved my cousin too much to lose him again. Perhaps, in that way, I am weaker than she.”

     This time L’Pira cast down her own eyes, momentarily, then raised them, again. “Your future will be bright, Spock, and satisfying, and you shall have many children and grandchildren to fill your years with happiness, giving you contentment, although you will marry from logical necessity rather than love.”

    Spock’s emotions cried out for release, to acknowledge this news with so little as a smile or tear, but he pushed forced them into the more distant areas of his brain to think logically. Never to love the woman he married and with whom he’d father many children. How could that be? Would it be the one betrothed to him as a child, the one known as T’Pring? He sensed the woman standing before him knew more than she divulged, despite all she said. Was she telepathic? He never felt her mind attempt to touch his, yet she seemed to know his emotions, to avoid or reassure their source.

     At last, he asked, changing the subject, “The Federation…what became of it?”

     She walked toward him. “The Federation grew into Galactic Alliance. While the Galactic Alliance incorporates nine galaxies, your Federation governs only one. Now, the Klingons, as well as Romulans, are peaceful while Phoebans and Krishnars pose themselves as our enemies. As I said before, the Phoebans are from another galaxy, as are the Krishnars. We do, however, possesses the same problems as your century. Statesmen quarrel, peace is broken, new diseases discovered, and old ones cured only to mutate. But we have changed little regarding the universal philosophy originated in your time, and yet there are many who would call us fool.”

     Spock barely listened to her words, as his mind raced ahead with all the questions bursting inside him. The first was expected, considering the Commander’s appearance, and would allow his emotions to return to their normal, reflective state.

    “This uniform of yours,” he said, gesturing toward the tightly revealing garment she wore, “is it comfortable?”

     “My skinsuit,” she replied, half laughing and bringing a chill of remembrance of another to his mind. “Yes, it is. You see, it is composed of a light weight thermal fabric developed by the Orestes, which insulates against cold as well as heat. You will also notice our communication devises are carried here, on the collar,” she said, touching the multi-colored disc at her throat. “But you have no desire to learn of such mundane items.  You would know more of T’Pira and your own future, while denying it in your mind.”

     “It is a Vulcan’s way to think in terms of possibilities and thus a sustained progression of logical alternatives.”

     L’Pira exhaled loudly then folded her hands, as she regarded Spock, and shook her head slightly. “Very well, if you wish.” She walked off a bit then turned and faced him, again. “I fear I cannot explain as adequately as my late husband might have. Even Kyle could explain this better than I and is doing so with your captain at this very moment.”

     “I have already surmised that probability.” Spock took a step forward. “L’Pira,” he said, using her name for the first time, “I already see there is a relationship between ourselves, which, of itself, makes it possible for you to reveal knowledge to me you would not to another.” His dark eyes riveted hers with wisdom. “You also possess extreme telepathic powers which can control my thoughts, ones your commander does not.”

     She smiled the same, faint smile as before and came closer. “True, Spock, but Kyle will, nonetheless, tell your Captain all he knows of the future of your universe and the history of ours. But I am unconcerned. For, while it is true there is a force you so observantly identified, which draws us together, despite our newness to one another, in the end neither you nor your captain will recall anything except what I wish you to. Such is my power.” She came closer still and sat at Spock’s feet, while he seated himself on the rock.

     “Our ships are basically like yours, designed for journeys of exploration and research, virtually self-sustaining. However, unlike yours, ours are powered by ion generators rather than matter/anti-matter and are capable of producing up to eighteen multiples of warp speed.”

    She paused, most likely sensing Spock’s mind attempting to conceive of such tremendous speed and the glory of ion drive, then continued. “There are other races, Spock, other empires which utilize gallium, cesium, or other sources of energy with better or equal results. The _Marganza’s_ long range weaponry consists primarily of photon and pulsar blasts but are seldom used. As for the crew, at present we employ two-hundred-and-eighty-three, although the ship has the capacity for three hundred. Of that number, one-hundred-and-fifty are women, a third of which are officers.”

     “You said, you have ion drive,” mentioned Spock, bringing back one of his favorite subjects. “How long ago did this happen?”

     L’Pira smiled. “Our ion drive was a contribution of the Mensans when they joined the Alliance one-hundred-and seventy-five years ago, although it is considered minor in comparison with gallium drive. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

     “Not about your ship or technology.”

     “I thought not,” she answered and rose, going back to the rock she had first occupied. “I cannot tell you of your parents, Spock. It is forbidden. I am not sure my own life will continue to parallel T’Pira’s, now it has diverged. If you wish, I can tell you where to find her now and when you will see her next.”

     “No,” he answered. “I do not wish to know these things.” He lowered his head, and L’Pira approached him, raising his face with her hands to meet her penetrating gaze.

     “Spock, do not fight what you feel.” She looked skyward, speaking to him and all the Ancients then walked to the bubbling stream and perched on one knee, one slender hand dabbling in the cool water. “You Ancient Ones nearly destroyed yourselves with this foolish control.” Her hand withdrawn from the current of the crystal-clear stream, she watched the drops of moisture trickled from her hand to the ground, then rose and faced him, her eyes again meeting his, and entered their depths.

     “You are no different than other Vulcan’s, Spock.  They experience sorrow the same as you, love the same as you. Emotions are nothing to be ashamed of. They must exist, so you will continue as a man. We Meldanans learned this less through much physical torture and mental anguish, through the pain of centuries.”

   Her hands dropped to his shoulders. “Rejoice in your humanity, Spock, and in your love for a woman. Despite your heritage, you must not deny your feelings. The Vulcans were once a volatile race of fiery men and winsome women, and that ancestry also flows through your veins. Many call you ‘machine’ but you know you are not. Physicians have known for centuries the affects of unreleased emotions upon the gastro-intestinal tract, on the heart. What do you think caused your father’s condition? You Ancient Ones possessed a seventy-five percent higher rate of heart and gastro-intestinal disorders than the Meldanans. Learn this if nothing else, Spock. You are not a machine, a computer which does not feel nor experience emotion. You are a man, part human part Vulcan. Neither half predominates, they merge to form another man, one different from both yet bearing the qualities of each—the best from each race.”

     She turned from him, obviously struggling with her indecision to reveal everything then faced him once more.

     “You, are the reason we Meldanans differ from the Ancient Ones. You are the cause of our galactic prominence throughout the universe and our respect by thousands of alien races. You, Spock, are the father of the Meldanan race.”

     Unprepared for the impact of her words, they shook him as squarely as a gust of frigid wind across a winter’s desert plain, assailing hi senses and causing his mind to fog so he barely heard what she said next.

     “You are the reason we differ physically from the Ancient Ones. You and your hybrid chromosomes are the cause of our prominence in the galaxies, of our respect among the thousands of alien races in our role of universal peace. Now do you understand?”

     The Vulcan rose and remained silent for a time, collecting his thoughts, then joined her, putting his hands upon her frail shoulders. “Yes, I do. I understand a great deal.” He paused. “You argue just as persuasively as T’Pira. Like her, I know somewhere beneath your rather emotional lecture, lies sound logic.” He grew quite somber before he spoke further. “But it is of no consequence. I see now, more than before, the remarkable similarities between you and my…my cousin. If your very form, your eyes, did not betray you as her descendant, your temperament would. Tell me one thing, and I shall ask no more. Who was the mother of the Meldanan race?”

     With a soft, reverent voice the woman replied, “My father’s great-grandmother, the First High Matriarch of the Regency of Meldana.”  She looked up at the Vulcan, the Ancient One. “I can tell you nothing more. Search your own mind for her name. She is known to you, a member of the royal family of Vulcan but a woman you shall never possess totally.”

     “I think it best we return to the transport coordinates,” said Spock, letting the matter go. “Time has passed quickly.”

     “Yes.” She reached up and touched his temple with her delicately outstretched fingers, like the lightest touch of a butterfly’s wing or a gentle breeze, and for the first time, he felt her mind touching his. Not an intrusion, it consisted of a rather a strongly seductive invitation for their minds to join. He fought the immediate impulse but lost, and soon their minds were linked, his own delving further and further into the dark blue depths of hers. He learned of the woman who would give birth to the people of Meldana and the ideals which would become a new culture. He learned, also, of the wisdom of the centuries which separated him from this woman standing before him…and learned the name of his first wife.

     Spock withdrew from L’Pira slowly, unwillingly from the link, wanting the moment to last. Never, before, had he experienced sensation such as this, even in links with T’Pira. Instead of removing her own fingers, those of this woman remained at his hairline, being joined on the opposite side by those of her other hand.

     In a low, velvety voice, she said, “You will forget all I have told you but not what I have taught you.”

     Eyes closed, lips fluttering, Spock struggled to open them, identifying his complete submission. L’Pira removed her hands and broke the link, causing Spock’s eyes to snap open and gaze upon her questionably. Only as she took his hand and led him to the beam-down point did his dazed mind gradually clear.

     A short time later, they reached the rendezvous point and each separated to join their commanding officer. Spock, still not completely released in his mind to the present, remained

momentarily resigned to his future. Beside him, stood James Kirk, who regarded him with a bemused expression.

     Taking the hand of Kyle Fielder, Kirk, shook it, saying, “We have learned much, Commodore. May your future be as bright.”

     Even in his dazed mental state, Spock’s eyes never left the face of the woman from the future. After Kirk’s farewell, he raised his hand involuntarily in salute, saying, “Live long and prosper, Princes L’Pira of Meldana.” Instead of the usual Vulcan finger formation of V, his hand configured itself into a different shape, ungoverned by his mind. This one, the first and last fingers separated from the middle ones into a “W” caused her to smile, and he continued gazing upon her, knowing but not knowing.

     “Peace be unto yours, Ancestor Spock,” she said, smiling the same slight smile, haunting and mysterious. Touching the green button on the neck disc she wore, she said, “Prepared for transport, Mister Raslor.”

     When the two had vanished in a blink, rather than the dematerialization of particles like their own transporter, Kirk turned to Spock.

     “Have an interesting talk with the Commander? Is she as much like our T’Pira as she seems?”

     “Extremely like her, Jim. A very interesting…stimulating woman. Fascinating.”

     “Don’t tell me that’s all you can say about her. What did you talk about?” he asked, hands on hips in frustration.

     “Actually, very little. We had but a few minutes, after all.”

     “A few minutes? You were gone over an hour!”

     Kirk cast a sidelong glance of exasperation at the Vulcan and flipped open his communicator. “Two to beam up, Scotty.”

     Then, they, too, were gone.

 

     Upon leaving the surface of Beta Cygni III, the woman known as L’Pira took a final look at the man from which both she and her late husband had descended before feeling the numbing affect of the transporter and the landscape vanishing before her eyes in a flicker of bright light. Walking side by side with Kyle Fielder in silence, they entered their Bridge and Kyle took his chair directly before the viewscreen, L’Pira standing beside him, as the red-eyed Mensan, Raslor, relinquished command and resumed his place at the science console.

     “Just think, Kyle,” she began, “I am the only Meldanan to know the name of the Ancestor.”

     “The who?” said Fielder, his handsome features wrinkling at her.

     “The Ancestor. Can you imagine the emotion you may have experienced if you had traveled farther back in time and met George Washington as a youth, with no idea of the great part he would play in history?”

     “Well…no.” He looked at L’Pira but only in time to see her leave the Bridge. _Probably on her way to make another entry in her personal log_ , he thought, _this time about her “fascinating” experience on Beta Cygni Three_.

 

     Upon entering their own Bridge, the Captain and First Officer of _The Enterprise_ , Lt. Uhura directed their attention to the viewscreen, where the image of the futuristic craft departed into the black hole from which it had first appeared.

     “ _Marganza_ entering ergosphere, Captain. Guess we’ll never see her again.”

     “See what, Lieutenant?” Kirk asked, somewhat confused.

     “The starship from the future, sir.”

     “Lieutenant Uhura,” interjected Spock, “we have neither seen nor encountered any starship from the future.”

     “But Mr. Spock, we all saw it. You and the Captain even beamed down to speak to their commander and first officer.”

     Kirk was obviously upset. “We did no such thing, Uhura, and just when did tis happen, if, indeed, it ever did?”

     “About an hour ago.  Mr. Chekov and Mr. Scot knew about it, too.”

     “Captain,” Spock commented, “if we are, indeed, suffering from a sort of amnesia, although it seems unlikely, the ship’s automatic videolog will reveal the facts.”

     “Right. Put the log of the last hour on the viewscreen.”

     The Vulcan walked with an uncharacteristic rapidity to his science station, then punched a button. Immediately, he cursed, “Damn, I erased it!” But he was unable to stop the action before it was voided completely.

     “Spock,” Kirk half laughed, swiveling his chair toward Spock’s position, “aren’t you being a bit emotional?”

     The Vulcan turned on his captain. “I am not a machine, Captain. I am a man. Only machines have no emotions.” He stopped, startled at his own words. “Why did I say that?”

     “Forget it and just play the log, or what’s left of it.” Kirk wouldn’t voice his disturbance at his friend’s sudden outburst but remained concerned, as Spock reached behind him and activated the recording, an expression of bewilderment still evident on his face.

     The screen filled with the bridge of the _Marganza_ and the form of Commodore Fielder. Once more, he identified himself and his ship, but before the image faded, a beautiful, dark-haired woman joined him, and the minute her face became visible, the recording ended.

     One word kept repeating itself in Spock’s brain…“Meldana.”

     “Spock,” said Jim, “your tricorder would have saved everything that happened on the surface, right?”

     He nodded and picked up the instrument from where he’d placed it on his console on their return. The playback switch activated, he stared at the screen. It was blank.”

    “Nothing,” he voiced.

    “The Transporter operator,” said Chekov, “he could werify you goink there, at least.”

    “Of course.” Kirk nodded and said, “Contact Transporter Room, Uhura.”

     “Transport. Scott here,” came the definitive brogue of the Chief Engineer over the intraship channel.

     “Scotty, who operated the Transporter when we beamed down an hour ago?”

     “Don’t know, sir. I’d never seen him before, and he appears ta have just disappeared. Several crewmen said they saw him, but na one knew his name, and they, too havena seen him before.”

     “Perhaps it is best, Captain,” put in Spock. “Perhaps we are not meant to know the future.” The Vulcan’s mind began to reel in images he couldn’t explain: a planet with mechanically-induced atmosphere of orange; skeletal trees beside streams of clear, indigo blue; strange scientific apparatus performing feats he could only begin to imagine; and a race of tall, well-formed people of light green skin, Vulcan in appearance but lacking Vulcan ears. Among them stood a woman of golden eyes, smiling and speaking through her mind to him.

     “You will forget all I have told you but not what I have taught you.”

     “Meldana,” Spock said aloud, coming out of his reverie.

     “What, Spock?” asked Kirk.

     “Meldana. It is an ancient word, one of which I am unsure of the meaning. She said it meant ‘new world’ but it does not.”

     “Who is ‘she?’”

     “The woman from the _Marganza._ ”

     “Then you’re starting to remember. Great, Spock,” he said, taking the Vulcan by the shoulders. “Now we can be sure we’re not going insane.”

     “But that is all I recall. Only that one word.”

     McCoy had been standing by the engineering station as Kirk and Spock entered but had remained quiet until now. “Spock,” he said, “is it possible whomever these people from the future were, they hypnotized you in some way? Or, perhaps, some present alien force has created a mass hallucination which has affected us in different ways?”

     “That recording, Doctor,” said the Vulcan, “is no hallucination>”

     “He’s right, Bones,” agreed Kirk. “We must have been given a mental suggestion to forget, although only myself and Spock seem affected.”

     Spock nodded in agreement. “It is the only logical answer.”

 

    Hours later, resting in his quarters, Spock’s mind wandered to the past and thought back many years to his father’s house. He remembered the time well. Indeed, it was engraved indelibly upon his memory.

     He had entered the living area to notice a small bundle in his mother’s arms **,** held gently as something within the wrappings squirmed. Nearby stood his father, touching the wrapping and examining the contents and, on noticing Spock’s approach, looked up at his teenage son.

     “You have a sister, Spock,” Sarek said.

     The boy came nearer, curious but hesitant, and glanced at the object in his mother’s arms, her smiling face, and then returned his regard to his father’s stern one.

     “I was unaware you and mother had planned—” he began.

     “She is not truly your sister, Spock,” said his mother, Amanda, “but we will raise her as such, for T’Pau herself, gave her into our care.”

     “T’Pau?” said Spock, eyes widening slightly. “What interest could T’Pau have in this infant?”

     Now, his father spoke. “None is to know outside this household, not even the child herself until T’Pau so decrees. In truth, she is the daughter of T’Pau’s nephew, the son of her sister T’Pree. Nevertheless, she will be known to all as your cousin. And, because of her human characteristics, as related to your mother’s family.”

     “But where are her natural parents?” Spock asked.

     “Her mother died soon after giving her life, and her father deserted her,” answered his mother, sadly.

     At last, Spock lifted the covering from the child’s face and examined the tiny Humanlike features. “It seems any man would be pleased with this child. How unfortunate. How old is she?”

    “One week,” Amanda answered.

     The girl child opened her mouth as Spock regarded her, the corners turning upward.

     “Look, Sarek,” remarked Amanda, “she’s smiling.”

     Spock’s father considered the child’s expression. “Nonsense. It is only air in her abdomen causing a grimace. You claimed the same when it happened to Spock at this age.”

     Seeing his mother smiling secretively, doubtless knowing it useless to dispute her husband’s flawless logic, Spock suppressed a smile of his own, when she looked up at him and winked.

     “Would you like to hold her, son?”

     Taking a step backward, he said, “I think not. There are…studies I must attend to.” He turned to leave then stopped and faced his parents. “Does she have a name?”

     “We have named her T’Pira,” Sarek proclaimed.

     Spock nodded. “A unique name for a unique child. Quite fitting.” Then the tall youth had continued his way across the room and through the central garden.

     Now his thoughts focused on a particular spot in that very garden, a bench surrounded by white gravel in the midst of dense foliage. A young girl of four sat beside him, attempting to command her finger to perform correctly.

     “Cousin, I cannot!!” she had protested for the fourth time.

     “Try again, T’Pira,” he urged. “You have accomplished all else, and this is only a bit more difficult.”

     She tried again, testing her newly developing skill of emotional control while inside Spock could see she raged with frustration. Finally, she accomplished her lesson and looked up at him for approval, a half smile of victory on her rounded face. Instead of giving her a word of encouragement or approval, Spock tested her further.

     As she set about the second part of her lesson that day, her cousin had interrogated her further. “Have you practiced your defensive actions on the models today?”

     “Yes, cousin,” she answered, lips pursed and lower lips extended outward.

     “T’Pira, you are showing emotion in your answer.” Spock’s eyes rivetted on hers.

     Her golden irises darkened. “Cousin,” she asked, do you always find it so easy to govern your emotions? Surely you can grant me some concession since my blood runs twice as strong with human traits as yours.”

     Always amazed at this small being’s excellent command of the spoken language, he half-whispered, “Granted, but only when we are alone may you lapse. Is that sufficient?”      “For the present.” T’Pira bent her dark head to pick at a thread on the red garment she wore. “Spock, why am I forbidden to play with other children?” Her question asked and the offending strand removed, she looked up, her amber eyes penetrating any attempts of his at falsehood.

     “You are too advanced for your peers,” he answered. “Undoubtedly, you recall what happened when you were allowed such contact.”

     She hung her head, ashamed. “I lost my temper and used the neck pinch on Seron.”

     Inwardly, Spock smiled, for he’d never mastered the neck pinch until the age of seven, but this small, prodigal girl mastered the task at three. “Any other questions, my princess?” It was a term he often used with her, partly because she acted like a child of nobility and partly because she was related to the royal family.

     “No,” she had bit off and rose, before running down the path back to the house, Spock in slow pursuit.

     Then came the child’s fifteen year of life, when she entered the cool house, wearing a pale gauzy green tunic against the intense heat of the Vulcan summer. Spock, newly returned after graduating from Starfleet Academy on Earth found himself taken aback by the strange woman coming through the back door of his parents’ home.

     “I seek Sarek and Amanda, his wife,” he announced.

     “They are both off-planet,” the woman answered, her voice sultry. Then she smiled, appearing amused.

     He took a step nearer, narrowing his eyes because of the sunlight which back dropped her body, presenting it as a dark silhouette without detail. Finally, he recognized in her the child he had left behind seven years before, now grown from a gangly girl who had blossomed into… A flood emotions and alien feelings gripped his body as she stepped into the dim light of the room, revealing not only had she become a woman but a very beautiful one.

    As he neared, hesitantly, she reached out, her voice like soft velvet. “Welcome home, Cousin.” The golden eyes swirled before him under dark lashes and the drape of inky hair.

    Composure forgotten, he drew her into his arms, meaning only to embrace her but found his lips reaching for the soft warmth of hers. The sweetness of that brief kiss had changed things between them, and no longer could he maintain his objectivity in her presence.

     He recalled another moment out of the many. He and the young woman had walked beside a stream of orange, colored thus by Vulcan’s soil, their bodies discreetly, “cousinly” apart, Spock longing to touch her hand. When she stumbled on a rock in the pathway, he caught her, for an instant holding her in his arms, their eyes locked in time.

     “We should return,” she said. “It is wrong. There is T’Pring.”

     “And there will always be T’Pring.”

     “But who for me, Spock?”

     He released her and turned to follow the stream’s reverse course. “You are free to marry whomever you wish when the time comes.”

     She trudged after him. “Anyone, Spock?” Another rock stubbed her toe, and she cursed under her breath, which caused her cousin to whirl about.”

     “I have cautioned you before about such behavior, T’Pira. You shall not repeat the offense. Adolescence is no excuse for your behavior, neither is your human heritage. On Vulcan you live, as Vulcan you shall live!”

     Her amber eyes glittered with anger. “One day I shall be more Vulcan than even you!”

     A prediction or threat, Spock never knew which she intended. But the next day he had left for his latest assignment, having seen none of his family but her.

     Now his mind beheld a woman of golden eyes and raven hair, a woman somewhat older on a Federation starship, and another woman wearing a strange uniform on the surface of a barren planet, all asking the same the same question, facing him with critical eyes. “Why must you deny what you feel, Spock?”

     “Because I am Vulcan.”

     And, all those women, alike yet different joined with others from his past: Leila, Zarabeth, Christine—and asked, “Why can you not acknowledge your emotions, your love?”

     Again, his mind answered tearfully, “Because I am Vulcan.”

 

     Once the _Marganza_ re-entered its own time, L’Pira sat in the recreation room of the officers’ deck on the seventh level of the Alliance Starship. As she leaned back into the softness of the lounge chair, relaxing for the first time in hours, she smiled, wistfully.

     “He is so like you, my Jainar, it was though you returned to life. If such a wonderful future awaits him, given all his troubles, perhaps there is one for me, as well. At least now, I can hope.”

     Her mind wandered to Meldana’s Regency Hall and the portrait hanging in a place of prominence above the entrance. How often had she looked upon it, wondering about the yellow-skinned man it represented wearing a blue velour shirt with black collar and a strange, triangular insignia of gold on the left breast? Now she understood her beginnings, the contradictions waging war within herself during her early years.

     Of all the millions of Meldanans and others who gazed upon that portrait and also wondered, she, alone, understood the man behind the layers of paint, and she alone understood the man the artist portrayed so skillfully. At the bottom corner of the painting the signature of that artist appeared in her brain: yellow letters straight but small, ones which spelled “T’Pira.” On a gold plate attached beneath the gilt frame, more letters, ones reverently engraved in modern form, proclaimed this portrait represented THE ANCESTOR…father of the Meldanan race.

 

The End

    

  

 

 


End file.
